


Battle Wounds

by desperationandgin



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-31
Updated: 2015-01-31
Packaged: 2018-03-09 21:16:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3264623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/desperationandgin/pseuds/desperationandgin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Robin and Regina take stock of one another's scars.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Battle Wounds

His cheek is resting against her bare stomach, both of them still warm with fading pleasure and skin tinged with pink. His fingers ghost across the crease of her thigh, head turning to place roving kisses to her skin until he reaches her side, finding a wide scar that travels from her midsection around her back and disappears. Thinking back to whether he’d noticed it before, he only remembers frenzied, passionate hands and mouths, guiding and urging, dresses half on, blouses with buttons ripped apart but the cloth still hanging off of her lithe frame. This is the first time they’ve laid properly, and now Robin is curious. Trailing his lips across the part of the scar he can see, his eyes glance up at her in silent question, pausing until her eyes open to look down at him. Her upper body is slightly curved, all the better to see him.

“You won’t like the explanation,” she murmurs.

“It’s my experience that most scars aren’t from pleasurable things. I still need to know.”

Regina inhales deeply, her breasts rising and then falling slowly with it before her head turns and she’s looking at the ceiling, though her eyes close. “My mother.”

There’s a long pause where not even his lips dance on her skin now, and he’s pushing himself up further. They’ve not talked at length about her past beyond Daniel, and he knows the vile woman took his life, he loathes that for Regina and it was enough to hate the woman as well, but he didn’t know she ever laid hands on Regina. “...Your mother did this to you?”

“Her magic. Her favorite way to punish me - binding me with tree limbs until I promised to obey her. There were days it was a battle of wills and the branches chafed until I was raw.”

Robin’s forehead presses to her stomach lightly, fingers reverently stroking that roughened skin. “Oh, my love.” It’s all he says before he’s kissing her scars again so tenderly, as if he can heal them now, and her fingers reach out to glide through his hair.

“It was a long time ago,” she tries to reassure.

“It still happened,” he counters, and suddenly he has a suspicion as he slowly kisses a heated trail up her body until he can ghost his lips over hers, thumb tracing the scar on her upper lip. “This was her as well?”

Regina’s eyes open to rest on his, and she nods, about to explain when his mouth crashes against her own, the kiss intense and urgent, and she can feel every ounce of him, every part of his love for her, the want he has to chase away the darkness that clouds her past so that her future is bright. When he pulls away and whispers for her to tell him, she blinks quickly, tears clouding her vision. They aren’t tears of sadness because of the tale, but because of _him_ , because she can feel him wrapping around her soul moment by shared moment. “I argued with her about being allowed to play with the servant’s children. I was ten, maybe eleven, and I had no friends, there wasn’t time, not for a girl training to be queen someday. So I played with the cook’s two children after a lesson and my mother sent them away for good. I tried so hard to get her to change her mind, and then she hit me. It was too low class to be seen playing with dirty children, what if the visiting Duke had seen, she’d yelled.”

Robin can’t describe, exactly, the ache he has in his chest. What had he been doing at that age? Playing, carefree, chasing some kind of forest animal perhaps, while Regina as a child was denied any happiness. “You never deserved any of that.” He doesn’t understand, couldn’t imagine someone treating a child that way.

“She didn’t have a heart. She took it out long before I was born.”

Oh. Well then, that explains the lack of love he’s realizing this woman had for a daughter only as good as her ability to be a queen. He still shakes his head, then kisses the spot where her heart has been newly returned. “I’ve seen _you_ without a heart. I do believe it still ached for Henry during that long year, and it was you, heartless, who marched directly into my camp and gave me what I think qualifies as the best kiss of my life.” He’s trying to turn the conversation, shift it away from the past he can’t change to the future he can. When she smiles it lights up his soul and he can’t help but smile in return, one hand carding through her hair.

“What can I say, thief? You’re inspiring and - “

Anything else she’s about to say is cut off by his mouth against hers again and he feels her smile against him before lips part and tongues collide, one of her legs lazily hooking around his hip. Reaching between them, his hand deftly moves to cup her sex, reveling in her soft whimper, at the heat against his palm. He isn’t quite ready again, but she doesn’t have to wait, and slowly his thumb drags through her, down to where the heat pools before going back up to circle her clit so slowly, lazy clockwise circles with a pressure that has her mouth falling open and her head tilting back against the pillows. She’s a goddess, truly, he thinks, from the way her longer hair now flows over her shoulders in a way that makes it impossible to keep his hands out of, to the ruby red of her lips and the olive kiss to her skin. When she moans and rocks into his hand, he speeds up for a moment, then slows.

“Robin, I need…”

“What, my love? What do you need?”

Her eyes open, dark with arousal as she wets her lips with her tongue, the action sending definite messages to his cock.

“I need you to make me come,” she sighs out, eyes closing on the final word as she gives into it, lets him know that what she needs is him.

How could he ever deny this woman spread in front of him, trusting and wanting, and his fingers, first one then another, slide into her, her body clutching around him tightly, drawing him in as they both groan together, hers higher and breathy, his low in his throat. His thumb is still at her clit, moving in a faster circle now, ignoring the ache in his wrist in favor of enjoying the way her cheeks flush and nipples harden into tight, dusky rose peaks. He’s learned when she’s close, what she likes, and as her breathing turns shallow, he bends to lave a breast with attention, sucking, nibbling lightly, and her corresponding sigh is not enough. She needs to _moan_ , to want and want until she’s falling over the edge. And so, his fingers curve, searching, pressing into her as his palm grinds now slowly against her. When he finds it, that spot inside of her, he knows because of the way she jerks suddenly, eyes flying open for just a moment before closing again and her hips are quite suddenly riding his fingers.

“There, there, _there_ …”

It becomes her mantra until she realizes he isn’t stopping, and he moves faster, eyes fixated on her, cock now ready to go and pressing to her skin, but he’s silently promised that she’ll have this, that he won’t stop even as his wrist screams at the position it’s in. Her back arches, her hands flail for something to take purchase on, to anchor herself, and she winds up with a fistful of the sheets as she cries out, loudly, the muscles in her belly spasming as her hips grind and she comes, his name the best it’s ever sounded from her mouth. He gradually slows as her pleasure ebbs, her breathing erratic but gradually calming until his fingers stop completely and he moves his hand, fingers soaked with her and dragging up her belly, very lightly circling a nipple with his index finger. Then he bends to lap lightly, making her whimper in residual pleasure.

Long minutes float by, every stretch of her body sending ripples of warmth and pleasure through her while hands idly stroke his skin, up and down over his arms. Her fingers have always gravitated to the scar on his bicep, but she’s never asked what it’s from. It takes her moments longer to find her voice, and when she does it’s low and still laced with pleasure. “Your turn. What’s this from?”

He’s almost dreaded knowing that one day she’d ask, and he kisses her collarbone, unable to lie, hating the truth. “The Dark One.” His gaze meets hers and he can see the upset, can see the wondering why. “I stole from him. He didn’t get far before Belle helped me escape.”

“You never said anything. He...what, he _tortured_ you Robin?” Anger and hurt flashes in her eyes, eyes that are now fixated now on the scar, imagining how long Rumple kept him, what he’d planned to do. “You helped us look for him when Zelena…”

“I’m quite convinced that it no longer matters. I was helping _you_ , Regina. Not him. Nothing was for him.”

Her lips find his again desperate for a moment before relaxing into the soothing feel of his hands in her hair, her own fingers dragging across the black ink on his arm, and she lets her thumb move over a scar on the side of his hand.

“Learning the bow,” he offers before she can ask, and he kisses a mark on her cheek.

“Snow getting cocky once,” Regina murmurs with a slight smirk.

There’s more there, a story he has heard in bits and pieces, seen in wanted ads across the Enchanted Forest. But before he can ask he’s being flipped around, the surprise leaving his lips in a huff of a laugh.

“This?” she asks, of a scar on his hip.

“Falling from a horse.”

Her eyebrow arches in amusement. “A horse?”

“I...might have been a bit drunk at the time.”

Her soft laugh is accompanied by a roll of her eyes, but then she’s raising her hips, hovering over him, delighting in the realization in his eyes as she guides him into her body.

His groan is low and long, head tipping as his eyes close in an attempt to soak up every moment of how she feels. Warm and hot, liquid and perfect around him. His hands ghost up her hips and come to rest there, languidly guiding her in a slow rhythm as his eyes blink open to look at her. And Gods, the way she moves, the way her breasts sway a bit and she bites down lightly at her own bottom lip. The way her head tips back and her belly clenches, then relaxes, and her hands grow so restless that she glides them up her stomach and to her breasts. He can’t keep this still, he can’t keep from pushing up and holding her, the action making her gasp and moan in a way that makes him shudder. She cants her hips forward a bit and he can feel her clit gliding against him at every thrust. “Like this?” he asks, the words strained as he hopes this is doing it for her because it’s sure as hell doing it for him.

Her jaw drops, head nodding over and over again as she begins to move faster, body pitching forward a bit more. Her hands drop away from her breasts and she has to lean over him to brace herself, hips rutting, grinding, gracelessly looking for release. She can feel his hands urging, pressing against her ass, clutching her close as his breathing falls hot on her skin. And then one of his hands, one _sneaky_ hand dips the best it can, flush at her belly and down, down until he can stroke her fast and hard and she comes so unexpectedly that a moan is ripped out of her, loud and unrestrained.

He can’t hold on, he can’t stop thrusting and pushing up and up, not until he feels pleasure unspool low in his abdomen and he’s coming, another thrust, one, two, and then he can’t think, can’t fathom words for how she feels, how they feel. Slowly she shifts as their combined breathing slows a bit, and then she’s tucking herself against his side and he can kiss across her cheek, arms holding her as close as he can. There are other scars he can see, something at her temple, round and dull, but tonight he knows enough, and tonight he doesn’t want to dwell any longer on the past.

Pulling the sheet up and over their bodies, he seeks out her lips, kissing her lazily, murmuring soft words of love against her skin. She curls into him, fitting so perfectly that he knows the curve of her body was made for him to hold. “Sleep.” He murmurs the words to her as she’s already drifting, and then he falls with her, to sleep and dream of their future.


End file.
